


the butterclups bloom in may

by orphan_account



Category: UNINE (Band), 青春有你 | Qing Chun You Ni
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Friends to Lovers, Implied Sexual Content, Internal Conflict, M/M, Manipulation, Self-Hatred, Toxic Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:02:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24190264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: That glitter of excitement in Jia Yi's eyes whenever he looks Guan Yue's way, where once it made Guan Yue amused and warm, it now drives himmad.He just wants to see more of it, see what the expression in Jia Yi's eyes can become just from the movements of Guan Yue's own hand. Because after all, every morning Guan Yue helps create Jia Yi like an artist and his doll, and Jia Yi is not only Guan Yue's best friend and Prince and object of unending affection and attachment, but also his product.
Relationships: Guan Yue/Huang Jiaxin | Jia Yi
Kudos: 6





	the butterclups bloom in may

**Author's Note:**

> this is actually a WIP that's been sitting in my docs since spring of last year (so yes, that means it's been about an entire year), and i just never returned to finishing it (until now) despite the fact it had 10k on it and i thought the idea was decent...  
> but yeah. S inspired me to finish it and i managed to smash out a finished work in a day. wow.

Guan Yue was very young the first time he understood what real love looks like. He was just six, his younger sister five, and his mother a staggering twenty-one. Such things like “love” and “trust” didn't exist, at least not permanently, in their community. That’s what you received in a place like the northern slums of the country. Kids are covered in soot, the dogs blackened with mud clotted in their fur, the women pitiful and frail with all bone and no muscle. The more you tried to clean yourself up, the more you tried to pick yourself up off of your feet, the more you realized that you’ll probably never escape a place like this. They always pointed fingers at people that tried to run away, ugly breath and roaring laughter just a step behind those extended index fingers, because if you tried, you failed, and if you failed, you just… vanished.

Everyone--including the women and children--have grown accustomed to such culture. It’s become a part of them, because that’s what they were born into.

That’s the kind of life Guan Yue was born into. His mama, too. A poor street hooker that started out as a woman, became a mother, and then turned into nothing but dust and flesh and blood and bone at the hand of some drunken madman with a knife; and it all happened under Guan Yue’s eyes, as he stared out into the dusty street that was really nothing but a well-trodden path on top of dead grass and earth that’d never produce life again. He saw the blood, heard the screaming, and he just stared, his mind blank, because at first he was curious, and then -- then he was just scared.

Murders were no extraordinary occurrences, and Guan Yue knew that, but to his six year-old self, they were a fleeting thought. He’d never seen his own blood, and he’d never been truly scared even despite all his mama’s warnings to never go out at night, because that’s when the bad people come out and do all these horrible things that Guan Yue only ever _heard_ of, and never ever experienced.

His mama always reminded him that if anything bad ever happened to her, and she couldn’t come home, that he was to care for himself and his sister. _The neighbors don’t have a lot of money, just like us,_ she’d said, _but be on your best behavior and ask nicely for help, and maybe they will take pity on you._

So that’s what he did: Uncle Gou sometimes gave him two coins, enough for two small sacks of rice. He and his sister only ever returned to their home to sleep, otherwise he’d be picking vegetables from Grandma Xie’s garden, and his sister would be sewing together bits of burlap sacks for a makeshift jacket.

At one point he’d thought that perhaps things would be like this for the rest of his life. He did the same thing every single day just like his mama did when she was still alive. Guan Yue didn’t even know that the concept of change was something that existed outside of fairy tales, because no one ever told him otherwise.

On one hot October afternoon, Guan Yue had been outside pinning up the newly-washed clothing for Mister Ling when he heard the shouts of men and the sound of numerous pairs of feet stampeding towards him. He paused, squinting, and in the distance he could see several men running down the street. 

He didn’t know it at that moment, but that’d be the second time in his life he’d witnessed a killing -- that group of men, most of them were dressed the same, with black boots and white robes billowing around their knees, held in place by an overlaid blue and black breastplate and a pair of pauldrons sitting high on their shoulders.

They all waved around swords, a single gleaming blade with a brass handle, held in the right hand and brandished threateningly. They were all the exact same, stampeding down Guan Yue’s street, except for one, who ran in the front. It seemed the other men were chasing him. He wasn’t wearing anything except for a light blue robe and sandals, hair tied up in a loose ponytail. The only similarity between him and the other men was the fact that he too held a blade in his right hand.

Without even thinking, Guan Yue wandered out into the street, watching them approach bit by bit, until the man being chased was close enough that Guan Yue could see the strands of his hair flying around his face as he ran, looking over his shoulder at the men chasing him.

He turned around, noticing Guan Yue standing in his path just barely in time, a look of surprise on his face, eyes just as wide as the eyes of the little boy standing in front of him. The man tripped, and that was the end for him, because the other men caught up, and Guan Yue watched one of them draw two long strokes of red over his chest with a blade -- one, two, diagonally from the shoulder to the hip with such ease that he might as well have been swishing a paintbrush across a canvas.

Guan Yue just stood there, staring, just like he did when he saw the blood drip from his mama’s neck and chest. The men seemed to not notice him, or they didn’t care, much too occupied with catching their breaths and sheathing their swords. Guan Yue lifted his head, looking at one of them, seeing how his face was so shiny with sweat and oil and dirt. That was it -- that was the only thing in his head at the moment, because what else was a little boy supposed to think having seen a man cut down right in front of his eyes?

He didn’t notice the pounding of hooves or the clatter of armor growing closer and closer behind him, until there was a scream that vaguely sounded like his sister -- “ _Yueyue!_ ” And suddenly there was a huge shadow looming over him, and he saw a pair of hooves about to crush down on his head, and all he could do was back up two steps, trip, and fall to the ground, squeezing his eyes shut tightly, his senses shutting off--

All until there was a thud and the sound of a horse snorting before complete and utter silence.

“Boy,” Guan Yue heard, and he slowly opened his eyes, an image of a man clad in shiny gold and red robes sitting atop a black horse greeting him, his shadow blocking the sun, ominous and strict. It was like Guan Yue was staring into the eyes of a military god.

“Why are you in the middle of the street? You could have been crushed to death.”

“I-I--” Guan Yue began, croaking, his throat dry and raspy, the way this man was staring at him just absolutely _terrifying._

“Boy, did your mother not tell you to keep out of the middle of the street?”

Guan Yue swallowed, rapidly shaking his head.

The man sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. “Where are your parents?”

Guan Yue opened his mouth, trying to say he has no parents, but the words just wouldn’t come out. They’re stuck in his throat, drowning, and the most he could do was just shake his head again. That seemed to displease the man, and Guan Yue let out a nervous squeak, his fingers digging into the dirt. He just wanted to run away, but his legs felt like lead at the moment. Nobody was reaching out to help him, to calm him down, to whisk him away from the burning stare of this foreign man. 

Guan Yue turned his head, and he saw his sister staring back at him, crouched in the doorway of Miss Ling’s house, frozen in place.

The man noticed where Guan Yue was looking, and he turned his head too. “The girl?” he mused, curious. “Your sister?”

Guan Yue still couldn’t muster his voice, so he just nodded. 

“Miss,” the man called out, and his sister’s head jerked up suddenly in surprise. She blinked rapidly, as if trying to prepare herself. 

“Y-Yes?” she replied, bowing her head and placing her palms on the floorboards. It was at that moment that Guan Yue realized this man must be someone very important. His robes were gold and crimson, shiny in the sunlight and flowy just like silk -- actually, they probably were made of silk.

“Do you and your brother have no parents?”

“Y-Yes, sir.”

The air was silent for a long moment. Guan Yue subconsciously held his breath, waiting. It seemed as if the world was put on pause the second the man stopped talking. His presence held the area still, restraining it, as if clutching it in a choke hold and pressing it against the dusty road.

“General Yang,” the man said, breaking the silence, and to Guan Yue, it felt like the whole world just took a breath. 

“Yes, your Majesty?” one of the mounted men behind the important man spoke up.

“Please prepare to dismount, General.”

* * *

The second and only other time Guan Yue understood what real love looks like happened over a very long time, to the point where he sometimes thinks it wasn’t a second “time” per se -- rather, it was a process. A long, arduous, gut-wrenching process.

That foreign man that’d nearly ran over Guan Yue with his horse -- Guan Yue quickly discovered that that man was none other than the King. That’s why his sister had bowed her head to the floor that fateful afternoon.

It is because of the King that Guan Yue learned that change _does_ exist. He doesn’t know what propelled the King to take him and his sister under the palace’s watchful care that day. Perhaps it was pity for two sooty, filthy little orphans from the kingdom’s poorest region, or perhaps it was because the King had been actively seeking out someone for a specific purpose, and Guan Yue and his sister just happened to fall into the empire’s hands.

That is how Guan Yue ended up here, kneeling down on the cold stone palace floor with his head bowed and his palms on the tops of his thighs, gaze averted as he softly says, “Yes, your Highness.” It’s been who knows how many years. He’s fourteen now, but he still feels like he’s nine sometimes. He still feels like it was just yesterday that a soldier picked him up, put him on the back of a horse, and told him to be patient.

“I keep on telling you you don’t have to be so formal,” the boy standing in front of Guan Yue says, putting his hands on his hips. His brownish-black hair is messy, uncombed, a big contrast to the neatly pleated folds of his robe. The sleeves and hem are lined with gold thread that glimmers at the slightest movement. 

“It feels wrong to refer to you by name, your Highness,” Guan Yue says, head still bowed. He sees a pair of socked feet step closer to him. His gaze briefly flickers upwards as the boy in front of him kneels down. “Your father and the instructors will scold me if they hear.”

Guan Yue hears a snort. The boy in front of him rearranges his position so he’s sitting cross-legged in front of Guan Yue.

“And none of them are here, so who cares?”

Guan Yue bites his lip.

“Say it, Yueyue. If it feels weird for you to call me by my name, imagine how weird it is for me if my best friend refuses to say my name and instead just calls me ‘your Highness’ like every other damn servant in this palace.”

_But technically I’m not that different from a servant, right?_ Guan Yue thinks. His bottom lip recedes even more between his teeth. 

“J-i-a Y-i. It’s not that hard.” The syllables are drawn out and enunciated, as if Jia Yi were teaching a small child how to say his name.

Guan Yue remains silent, contemplating. It makes him a bit uncomfortable to disappoint Jia Yi, but he’s secretly afraid that if he constantly calls his best friend by his name in private, that it’ll become a habit, and one day his tongue will slip in front of someone important.

Jia Yi harrumphs, crossing his arms. But before Guan Yue can even comprehend it, Jia Yi’s clammy hands are on his cheeks and squeezing his face. 

“Whm--” Guan Yue begins, surprised, his eyes widening incredulously. 

“Say it.” Jia Yi forcefully lifts Guan Yue’s head so that his friend is looking him directly in the eye. Guan Yue’s lips form a small “o”, just like a fish’s lips, and Jia Yi almost starts giggling. He forces himself to remain serious, because that’s the only way Guan Yue will listen.

Guan Yue’s gaze downturns. He sees the little brass fasteners over the collar and chest of Jia Yi’s robe. This morning he’d knelt in front of Jia Yi, back facing the mirror, and slipped one knot through the other with deft fingers, working his way down the chest, until all the knots were aligned perfectly. Jia Yi is old enough to button up his own clothing, but like routine, every morning he rolls out of bed and lazily whines for Guan Yue to help him get dressed when Guan Yue steps into the room with the tray of morning tea and biscuits.

“Yueyue,” Jia Yi begins, his voice high and drawn-out, and Guan Yue’s ears perk up. Yes, that voice is the telltale sign that Guan Yue’s head is going to be full of Jia Yi complaining for the rest of the day if he doesn’t comply.

Guan Yue lets out a short breath. “Fine, _Jia Yi._ There.”

Jia Yi giggles softly, taking his hands off of Guan Yue’s face. Guan Yue just sighs, rubbing at his cheeks with his knuckles, his skin damp with the sweat from Jia Yi’s palms.

“You’re so funny, Yueyue,” Jia Yi says, amusement in his voice. “That’s why you’re my best friend.”

Guan Yue almost rolls his eyes. He would, but Jia Yi would see him and complain -- not to his father, but to _Guan Yue,_ and Guan Yue wouldn’t hear the end of it. 

“Please get off the floor,” Guan Yue says, his voice slightly solemn. “Your robes might get dusty.”

Without a sound, Jia Yi reaches forward, taking Guan Yue’s hands in his own, and pulls Guan Yue up off of the floor.

* * *

_It’s inevitable that something like this would happen,_ Guan Yue sometimes thinks.

Despite the hand of kindness the King had extended him when he was a small child, it’s clear he views Guan Yue as nothing more than another member of the palace help, and he only allows Guan Yue more freedom than conventional servitude would typically offer just because he cares about his son.

“Daddy told me he didn’t want me to be lonely and sad anymore,” Guan Yue remembers Jia Yi telling him a long, long time ago. “So daddy brought a friend home for me.”

Those words had made Guan Yue’s insides curl a bit. To him, it sounded like he was an object, a toy left by a careless child that was picked up from the side of a dusty road, washed and patched up before being tossed in the hands of a spoiled little boy, jokingly labeled as "new", and everyone, including himself, knew how fake his shiny facade was.

That thought always lingered with him, and it was a nasty thought to harbor at such a young age. He never said anything about it, though. Being forced into eternal gratitude to the King is nothing short of threateningly heartbreaking, especially when you’re a little boy and have no grasp on how obligation and responsibility work.

But oddly enough, even though Jia Yi’s words were a bit crass, in time Guan Yue learned that the Prince had been truly _lonely._

_Had been_ is the keyword. Guan Yue had once asked Jia Yi if he was lonely. It was a question in his head that was never intended to come out of his mouth, because that is not something you ask the Prince, especially if you are not the King. Guan Yue would’ve profusely apologized if not for the fact that Jia Yi hadn’t immediately answered, “No? Not since I met you, no,” so casually that it felt like he was responding to a question about which set of robes he liked better.

Guan Yue has probably asked Jia Yi that exact question many, many times since then, and every single time Jia Yi has given him the same answer. As many times as Guan Yue asked, Jia Yi would match him with that sincere look in his eyes and the innocently pleased smile he gave whenever Guan Yue even bothered to ask him how he was doing.

But nobody ever asked Guan Yue if he himself was lonely. He’d never outright asked himself if he felt lonely; more like it was an expectation that was forced upon him by the rest of the palace staff. They pitied him, not only because of his background, but also because the poor boy had to see so much ugly death from such a young age.

A fishing net around his sister’s neck was what got her only three years after their arrival. Nobody knows what happened, not even the fishermen at the docks or the naval crew or the lighthouse maintenance team. A suicidal man that was contemplating throwing himself into the ocean simply found her floating there. Soggy remnants of the previous evening’s dinner rolls were in her pockets, too. Perhaps she had been feeding the seagulls.

_Poor boy,_ Guan Yue could see the adults thinking. The only person that never gave him an ounce of undeserving and unwarranted sympathy was Jia Yi.

“My mommy died too,” Jia Yi once said, without a single trace of sorrow on his face. His lips were pursed into a thin line. "It’s just been me and daddy. And now you!”

At this age, if you were to ask Guan Yue if he is lonely, what would he say?

Jia Yi never seemed to understand the difference between himself and Guan Yue. To him, Guan Yue was another same-age, same-gender childhood friend that just happened to always be there. He wasn’t a part of the palace staff, and he certainly wasn’t Jia Yi’s personal attendant or servant. He wasn’t forever indebted to Jia Yi’s father, to Jia Yi’s family, and therefore to Jia Yi himself. He wasn’t constantly threatened with the possibility that if he displayed even a trace of ungratefulness, he’d be thrown back to his roots.

No matter how much Guan Yue reiterated it in the careful manner of his hands on Jia Yi’s shoulders, fixing his collar, patting down the breast of his robes, pouring him a cup of tea and sprinkling powdered sugar on his bread, Jia Yi just… never understood.

“You’re so serious all the time,” Jia Yi says. Guan Yue is a good sixteen years old now. He can read and write efficiently and fluently. He knows how to ballroom dance and how to play the harp. He is nowhere near as skilled as Jia Yi in any of this, because what became perfection in the instructors’ eyes was the crown Prince and not his personal attendant. Guan Yue was simply there as a decoy, a pretty and silent little thing with neatly combed black hair and golden pins in his bangs, jade-beaded bracelets on his wrists and soft blue satin slippers on his feet. The very least the Prince’s side attachment could do was be easy on the eyes and educated enough to not make a fool of himself.

He was nothing compared to Jia Yi, even though Jia Yi just bled out Guan Yue’s influence everywhere. The perfect golden silk bow tied around his waist was spun with Guan Yue’s hands. The clasp of the silver pendant hanging around his neck was fastened with Guan Yue’s nimble fingers. The stray hairs on the top of his head were gelled down by Guan Yue’s gentle palms. It is all Guan Yue’s doing. Even the sparkle in Jia Yi’s pupils, the slight crinkles at the corners of his eyes, the curve of his innocently expectant lips only appear because of Guan Yue, for Guan Yue.

Jia Yi is so dependent on Guan Yue that it should be unhealthy. Guan Yue questions if Jia Yi would even be able to do things as simple as brew his own tea if Guan Yue hadn’t been there.

Yet, the relationship doesn’t run only one way like this. Jia Yi has all the reason to be so reliant; it’s expected of him, actually. Guan Yue shouldn’t even care. But in reality, he does, and it's to an extent much more than he should.

That thought momentarily occurs to him late one afternoon. He’s trying his best to quickly clean and bandage the scratches on Jia Yi’s temples and forehead. The Prince had fallen off of his horse earlier that day while out hunting, heading out despite feeling a bit under the weather, managing to sprain a shoulder. He had landed directly on some rocks that dug their sharp edges and grit into his head, carving a pattern of scratches and punctures along his cheekbones and temples, as if creating a sickening galaxy comprised of blood and flesh. 

Guan Yue’s hands tremble so badly that he can barely even tie a knot with the bandage cloth around Jia Yi’s shoulder. Jia Yi looked _dead_ when he’d been carried in, and Guan Yue almost crumpled on the spot, all the blood and heat in his body evaporating in the moment he laid eyes on his best friend, because it felt like his worst nightmare just came true, even though he hadn’t realized it at the time. 

Jia Yi’s breathing is labored, shallow, and noisy. His body is too hot, probably running a fever, and Guan Yue’s trying his best to fight his panic, to push back those thoughts that suggest Jia Yi’s wounds are anything more than skin-deep. The royal apothecary is not back until tomorrow morning, so the Prince's medical attention falls directly into Guan Yue's hands. Jia Yi’s skin feels much too hot to Guan Yue, almost like he’s being burnt alive, and when people burn, they die.

“J-Jia Yi,” Guan Yue whispers, his lips trembling as he dabs at the blood of a particularly nasty cut right above Jia Yi’s eye. Had the scrape been any closer and Jia Yi could’ve gone blind in that eye. “Does it hurt? Does it hurt?” It’s the nth time Guan Yue’s asked that, but he can’t stop asking even though he gets the same answer every time -- either a short, wheezed “no” or complete and utter silence.

A few minutes later and Guan Yue is taping the last bandage in place. His hands are shaking even more now, because he feels like it’s been an eternity, and Jia Yi is still on fire. His breaths still sound painful. His hair is matted to his forehead with sweat even though his body is wracked with shivers. His palms are clammy, and his gaze is unfocused. Guan Yue can’t even tell where Jia Yi is looking, even though Jia Yi is facing him.

“J-Jia Yi,” Guan Yue croaks out, and he swallows the hard lump in his throat. He still feels choked, like the lump hasn’t left, still threatening to burst into hot tears dripping down his cheeks. His hands and fingers are unbelievably unsteady as they run over Jia Yi’s arm, shoulder, chest, and neck, checking for any loose wrappings or dried blood. 

“D-Does it hurt?”

“No.” Jia Yi tries his best to smile. His smile is watery, and his lips gape a bit, the corners of his mouth clearly straining, and it painfully strikes Guan Yue right at that moment that the easygoing, innocent, and hopeful smile that was once so easy for Jia Yi to wear in Guan Yue’s presence becomes something as difficult to carry as a burden for him.

Guan Yue sees the corners of his vision begin to blur, and his facial expression twists, almost like he’s about to sob, but no sound comes out. His fingers grasp at Jia Yi’s cheeks, and Jia Yi’s skin is still so, so, so hot, but the shine in his eyes is evident and bright, just like he’s a phoenix that’ll burn to death alive and be reduced to nothing but ashes. His gold and red silk robes will be his flaming feathers, the sparkling jewelry he wears his glowing heat, and the dazzling decorations in his hair his proud crest.

“Y-You’re so hot,” Guan Yue stammers out, his gaze flitting between his fingers cradling Jia Yi’s cheeks and Jia Yi’s eyes trained on him. “You’re g-g-going to b-b--” The tears feel like they should already be flowing, but they refuse to come out.

“I’m c-cold,” Jia Yi interrupts quietly, and his lips stretch even wider. He wants to look relaxed, content, and reassuring, but all Guan Yue sees in that smile is hurt.

“N-No, y-y-ou’re--” Guan Yue’s fingers curl in, like he’s trying to hold tightly onto whatever he can of Jia Yi; and maybe that’s exactly what he’s trying to do anyways, as if Jia Yi could fall apart in his hands at any moment.

“I wanted to take you hunting with me today,” Jia Yi begins, weakly. His voice is hoarse and thin. “And when I fell, the first thing I thought of was you rescuing me.”

Guan Yue almost laughs. Even through the violent trembling of his lips he can still smile. It just slips onto his face without him even thinking.

“I’m cold, Yueyue.” As if on cue, Jia Yi furrows his brows for a moment and huffs, an intense shiver running up and down his body. Underneath Guan Yue’s finger pads, the sweat on Jia Yi’s forehead is cooler than the heat of his skin. 

Guan Yue nonetheless presses himself closer, his chest pushing against Jia Yi’s arm, palms flat against Jia Yi’s cheeks, their heads almost forehead-to-forehead. Guan Yue feels the heat of Jia Yi’s body enveloping the air around him, searing and painful, and he closes his eyes. He could just stay here and burn to ashes with Jia Yi.

That twinkling hope Guan Yue had seen in Jia Yi’s eyes is reflected in his voice when he whispers into Guan Yue’s ear, “Rescue me, Yueyue.”

It’s only then do the tears begin to slip out of the corners of Guan Yue’s eyes, their descent long overdue.

* * *

“Please don’t make me drink that, Yueyue.”

“You have to, your Highness. It’s for your health.”

Jia Yi sighs, closing his eyes, and Guan Yue gently brings the edge of the flask to Jia Yi’s lips, pressing his palm comfortingly against the back of Jia Yi’s head, supporting him. Guan Yue’s hand drifts down to rest on Jia Yi’s shoulder as he places the flask down on the silver tray next to him. Jia Yi’s eyebrows come together as he scrunches up his face, all the wrinkles and ridges in his skin appearing simultaneously. 

“Bitter.” Jia Yi swallows it all in a single gulp. There’s only drops of the bright red liquid left in the bottom of the flask, and Guan Yue pours a bit of hot water from the canteen on the tray, swirls it in the flask, and brings it up to Jia Yi’s lips once again.

This has been a routine for him for the past week. The Prince is working towards recovery from a mild cough that never seemed to leave him for one reason or another. Guan Yue thought of it like a lingering child’s spirit, something that hovers right over Jia Yi’s shoulder whenever he is awake, waiting expectantly for him to turn around and finally notice what is bothering him.

It could be sinister or it could be promising -- in the end, it is unpredictable, just like children are supposed to be. No one knows exactly why Jia Yi has not yet reached full recovery, not even the royal apothecary himself.

“How come you never get sick?” Jia Yi asks, his eyes flickering up to look at Guan Yue.

Guan Yue turns his gaze away, focusing his attention on rearranging the cutlery on the tray and relocating it to the table near the doorway. He’ll pick it up and return it to the culinary quarters at the end of the evening.

“I don’t know,” he replies quietly. He catches a glimpse of his own reflection in the silver: his own eyes stare right back at him, big and wide and black, his lashes thick and dark as they fan out around the outer corners of his eyes. His expression is like that of a young kid’s still, the skin on his face smooth and unblemished and his cheeks full and round. But his eyes are a bit different. The skin underneath his eyes is a bit purpley with hints of yellow, black, and blue, like he’d gotten socked in the eye and the bruise is almost completely gone. The rest of his skin is a bit pale -- not too pale like a white sheet of paper, but pale in the sense that it looks unnaturally sickly, like he is being confronted with his worst fear and all the blood has drained from his face.

It is a big contrast with Jia Yi and the healthy brightness in his face despite his illness. The Prince looks at Guan Yue, and the entirety of his face just glows, from the tops of his temples and cheeks to the point of his chin and his nose. He has a similar skin tone as Guan Yue, just a bit tanner from his time spent outside, but the pigment in his skin is rich and full, as if he’d spent an entire day yelling in the sun, and the sun had burnt permanent redness into his cheeks, forehead, and chin.

_Jia Yi should not be the one that gets ill so easily,_ Guan Yue briefly thinks. Instead, it should be that enigma of a figure that blinks back at Guan Yue in the silverware. It looks like Guan Yue himself, but to him, it feels like he’s staring at an entirely other creature.

“Maybe it’s because I don’t go outside a lot,” he offers, the sound in his voice a bit dull. It’s an excuse, but also because he really doesn’t know.

“You should come out with me more often,” Jia Yi replies. Guan Yue turns around, and there is the Prince in the exact same position, his legs hanging off of the edge of his bed as he eagerly looks at Guan Yue, all the discomfort from the bitter medication he’d drank dissipated from his expression.

Guan Yue smiles smally. “Are you implying you want me to get sick too?”

Jia Yi just giggles. The sound is rough at its edges, the wear on his voice from coughing that day. “Well, if you got sick, then I could take care of you for a change instead of you doing everything for me. I’d have an excuse to stay inside all day with you.”

“I don’t think you’d want to do that,” Guan Yue replies. He returns to Jia Yi’s bedside, noticing the tie at the collar of the Prince's robe is undone. Guan Yue gets down on one knee, his hands reaching up to re-tie the bow. “I don’t think you can even tie your robes properly by yourself, your Highness." Jia Yi opens his mouth to protest, although Guan Yue interrupts him with a grin, continuing to speak. “Besides, I don’t think your father would be too happy about the Prince attending to his personal _attendant._ ”

“I don’t care what daddy thinks,” Jia Yi says, sticking his nose up and shaking his head. “What if I _want_ to take care of you? He can’t do anything about that.”

Guan Yue looks up, letting the two loops of the bow he’d just tied fall from his hands. “You really want to?” He raises his eyebrows.

“Mhm.” Jia Yi nods immediately. He purses his lips, eyes following Guan Yue as Guan Yue rises and resumes his spot next to the Prince on the bedside. 

“Then the first thing you can do to ‘take care of me’--” Guan Yue puts those words in air quotes, his lips stretched out into a close-lipped smile, which makes the skin at the corners of his eyes crinkle. It makes him happy to hear that Jia Yi cares about him in that way, but at the same time, thinking about Jia Yi attending to his needs instead of the other way around just feels inherently wrong. “--is to get better. And stop getting sick too.”

“I don’t think I can guarantee any of that,” Jia Yi responds, “but I’ll try my best. Maybe I should keep indoors, too. Just like you.”

“Don’t do that.” Guan Yue’s voice quiets, and he turns away, taking slow steps to Jia Yi’s wardrobe. The wooden doors creak as they open, and Guan Yue takes a mental note to ask for some hinge oil. 

There’s robes of every single color inside, from emerald green to clear blue to deep red. Gleaming florals or fiery dragons or prideful gulls line the hems, crawling their way up the sleeves and weaving their way around the collars. Guan Yue can vividly remember Jia Yi wearing each and every set for every different occasion. He’s seen Jia Yi sit beside his father at the head of the oak dining table in the grand chamber, tigers’ claws perched on his shoulders, as if Jia Yi were their master and they hung on to his every movement and word. He’s seen Jia Yi dance across the ballroom floor with bird of paradise blooming from his sides, their petals smoothed across his skin, shading him and protecting him as if engulfing him in a bed of rich green and orange. He’s seen Jia Yi fly across the pastures on the back of a black horse with blindingly white seagulls just half a stride behind him, their wings flapping next to his hands and wrists, as if they were some kind of magic conjured by the Prince’s slender palms and fingers.

Every single thing he owns and wears is tailored to him, to fit him and make him more beautiful, to make him more worthy to sit on that throne one day, to make him more than just an adornment for the crown -- and that includes Guan Yue, who would fall to his knees, letting the sleeves of his robes pool across the stone-cold floor at a single whisper from his crown Prince, not out of loyalty and obedience, but out of pure _instinct._

For a long time, he has known no one but Jia Yi.

“You have sword fighting training in an hour,” Guan Yue notes, softly, eyeing the set of plain tan silk robes at the end of the wardrobe. “Perhaps we should get changed now, your Highness.”

“I don’t feel like going today,” Jia Yi replies with a sigh, collapsing back on his bed. 

Guan Yue doesn’t respond, simply pulling the robes from their hanger and draping them over his forearm. He approaches Jia Yi’s bedside, and Jia Yi eyes him lazily.

Guan Yue reaches out, holding open the first layer of silk, standing there patiently, waiting.

The bow at Jia Yi’s waist is already untied, his robes falling off of his shoulders and exposing his bare chest the moment he rises from the mattress. His skin is warm and soft as Guan Yue helps him slip his arms through the sleeves. The lean muscle coasting the tops of his shoulders to the base of his neck shifts as he moves, and Guan Yue’s palms rest there momentarily, feeling the heat and strength of Jia Yi’s body flowing beneath his skin.

As expected, even Guan Yue’s hands fit against Jia Yi’s body perfectly.

* * *

Jia Yi loses the remainder of his baby fat. The corners of his jaw sharpen, the ends of his lips become more acute, the height of his cheekbones becomes more noticeable. His chest becomes broader, his thighs and calves become more defined, and the slenderness and elegance of his fingers are replaced with intense poise and driven strength. His voice becomes deeper too, although Guan Yue doesn’t notice any of this change. Jia Yi, to him, still sounds the same as he did a year and a half ago.

Guan Yue himself changes as well. His shoulders broaden and much of the softness of his belly and legs falls to reveal a layer of lean muscle. He grows noticeably taller, still not tall enough to overtake Jia Yi, but he no longer has to lift his chin to stare the Prince in the eye.

At the end of the day, though, Guan Yue is still thin and wiry, borderline frail, and Jia Yi is still well-built and strong, his skin and livelihood having never lost any of its richness. 

Guan Yue sometimes stares at himself in the mirror standing next to Jia Yi, and he can’t help but notice the stark contrast between them, and the corners of his lips will fall into a flat line of discontent.

The Prince never seems to realize, or at least he never says anything and just walks away while humming his own melody. _Good,_ Guan Yue thinks, because Jia Yi doesn’t need to know that Guan Yue cares about such trivial details. It even pains Guan Yue, chipping away at his pride, knowing that something as small as physical appearance can make him feel such a way. This is one of the last things he wants to explain to his best friend -- to his crown Prince. 

“I don’t know why you look at yourself in that way,” Jia Yi comments one day, catching Guan Yue completely off-guard. “You’re beautiful, Yueyue.”

“...What?” Guan Yue whispers, his voice slightly hoarse and his eyes widening. He sharply turns his head to stare at Jia Yi, who blinks back, innocent and nonchalant. 

Guan Yue’s gaze flits away when the Prince cautiously approaches him, standing next to him in front of the mirror.

“You look at your reflection like you don’t like what you see.”

“I don’t do that.” Guan Yue shakes his head, chin bowed. His hands are rested atop one another, tucked into his sleeves.

Jia Yi doesn’t refute his statement. Instead, he places a hand on Guan Yue’s bicep, and Guan Yue momentarily shivers. He can feel Jia Yi’s eyes trailing up and down his face, and the sudden intense attention from the Prince makes heat prickle at the tops of his cheeks. When has Jia Yi ever looked at him so carefully, let alone complimented him using a word like _beautiful?_

“Madam Meng scolded me for accidentally dropping a couple of books the other day.” Guan Yue hears Jia Yi take a breath. He is not surprised. The Prince’s literature instructor has never been particularly fond of Jia Yi, not only because the Prince himself obviously cared very little about classics and world history, but also because she always clicked her tongue at how inelegant his penmanship and diction is.

Jia Yi is most definitely a bit rough. It’s not because he doesn’t try; it’s just him as a person. He prefers to wield a sword over wielding a pen. He likes to yell out into the clear wind and grass, holding his arms wide open and beaming into the sunlight. He’ll stub a toe on the leg of a table and laugh at his own pain. That’s just Jia Yi; it doesn’t make him any less princelike, let alone any less deserving of the throne. It just makes him less soft, less miserable, less feeble -- less like Guan Yue.

“And you know what she said? She actually asked me why I couldn’t be more careful like Guan Yue. Also why couldn’t I be more graceful like you. Apparently I walk too stiffly. I can’t even pour tea or carry books elegantly.”

Guan Yue blinks aimlessly. He’s managing to will away the threatening heat in his skin. “It isn’t your responsibility to pour tea or carry books. It also isn’t your responsibility to be careful, graceful, or elegant,” he says, the words coming out of his lips easy, like a breeze.

“Maybe I’m not supposed to pour tea or carry books, but aren’t elegance and grace qualities a prince is supposed to have?”

It is one of the few times Guan Yue has ever heard Jia Yi try to refute one of Guan Yue's statements, let alone with actual logic, and Guan Yue is momentarily left speechless, his lips partially open.

Jia Yi continues, turning his head away and instead focusing his gaze on the reflections of himself and Guan Yue in the mirror. His head is tilted, slightly inclined towards Guan Yue. Guan Yue is still half a head shorter, leaving Jia Yi looking vaguely confused with the way his head is angled.

“And Madam Meng is right. You do everything so carefully and perfectly, Yueyue. You’re really elegant and graceful, even when you walk. Sometimes you walk so quietly that you startle me, because it’s like you just randomly appeared.”

Guan Yue’s eyebrows furrow questioningly. Is that really a good thing? The Prince says it with such excitement in his eyes that it’s obvious he’s praising Guan Yue.

“I think it’s beautiful, Yueyue. I mean, the way you act and everything. Just you in general.”

“Oh,” Guan Yue whispers, and he meets the gaze of his reflection. He suddenly feels too shy to look at Jia Yi’s reflection, let alone Jia Yi’s eyes.

“So I don’t like it when you look so disappointed just from staring at yourself in the mirror.”

Guan Yue’s eyes scan his reflection once over again. The slight fragility in his frame and obvious darkening of the low points in his face stand out noticeably to him. _Beautiful?_ he asks himself, _no._

“Like a princess,” Jia Yi adds, his voice soft, wisp-like, tone unsure and cautious, as if he is wary as to how Guan Yue will react to those words.

Guan Yue freezes, his entire body going stock-still, and he feels that dangerous heat prickling at the tops of his cheeks again. He purses his lips and looks at his feet, not in disappointment this time, but in embarrassment.

Jia Yi’s arm is still on Guan Yue’s bicep, warm and firm, unwavering despite his voice. It’s like he’s telling Guan Yue how sincere he is, how much he means what he says. It’s not at all empty praise and flattery to boost Guan Yue’s ego; perhaps Jia Yi really does think Guan Yue is like a princess.

That thought lights Guan Yue’s face aflame. He shouldn’t be the object of such adulation, let alone adulation from the _Prince._

“S-Stop,” Guan Yue protests, his voice slightly like a hiss. He’s immediately taken aback. The word comes out much harsher than he intended, and the way Jia Yi’s expression falls the moment Guan Yue opens his mouth makes Guan Yue regretful.

“I’m s-s-sorr--” the Prince begins, pulling away hurriedly, his eyes wide like saucers. Without even thinking, Guan Yue grabs the hand that’d been resting on his bicep, gripping onto Jia Yi firmly.

“I’m not m-mad,” he hurriedly explains, and he lets out a breath when he sees the tension in Jia Yi’s expression somewhat relax. “I just don’t deserve praise like that from you, your Highness.”

Jia Yi closes his mouth, which had been gaping open. His face tenses up again, but this time it isn’t from remorse, but from resolution. It’s the type of look Guan Yue only sees Jia Yi adorn when he’s sparring. His eyes are full of determination, but the way his lips are crooked hint that this is not the exact same as when he’s facing an opponent.

“I’m not ‘your Highness’,” the Prince says. “I’m Jia Yi, and I meant what I said, Yueyue.”

Guan Yue swallows thickly. He’s never seen Jia Yi like this up close, eyes dark and wide and intense. 

“Okay,” he whispers.

* * *

Guan Yue watches him more carefully now. He takes special note of the way Jia Yi looks at him, past how he trained himself to observe the Prince’s emotions and thoughts through his expressions.

Jia Yi mostly just looks at Guan Yue like he usually does, his smile full of endearment and innocence and sincerity, but there are moments where his eyes become darker, just like they did in front of the mirror, like he’s searching for something from Guan Yue, scanning him up and down, gaze attracted to him like a magnet.

To Guan Yue, it is startling for sure, but not at all uncomfortable. At first he was mildly embarrassed. Yet, he’d managed to smooth over his thoughts by telling himself that perhaps it was just the Prince’s affection for his personal attendant and best friend.

But there is always a nagging feeling that there is something more to the way Jia Yi stares at him, and whenever that thought consciously occurs, a shiver runs down Guan Yue’s spine.

He’ll return Jia Yi’s stare, his eyes trailing up the broadness and lines of the Prince's chest and shoulders, drifting over the rise of his Adam’s apple and chin to those handsome eyes framed by lashes that flutter whenever he blinks in Guan Yue’s way.

Guan Yue is relatively unclear about how he feels about it all, which is a first for him. He knows he feels proud about how Jia Yi has grown over the years, not only physically, but also emotionally and mentally. The boy that’d once replied to everything with “But _why?”_ or a goofy smile is beginning to answer those questions himself. Guan Yue always had to keep a firm hand on him and thus became accustomed to Jia Yi’s childlike tugging, and while the Prince is still carefree and teasing, those traits have become less and less naive despite his blatant innocent sincerity.

Guan Yue just remains tight-lipped about it and turns his eyes away, his skin too warm for his liking.

* * *

The guards never blink an eye when Guan Yue trails Jia Yi to the royal bath springs. Jia Yi hardly visits the springs, mostly out of sheer laziness and preference of his own bathing quarters, but he’d just finished a week of intense weaponry training, and Guan Yue suggested that perhaps the hot springs would be the most relaxing.

The bottles of oils and shampoo are already lined up neatly next to the water when they arrive. Guan Yue takes a deep breath, inhaling the scent of the springs, wet and fresh and slightly salty, before turning his attention to Jia Yi, who is already fiddling with the silk bow at his waist. He is wearing nothing but simple white cotton robes today.

Guan Yue undoes the bow with ease, and Jia Yi shrugs his shoulders, letting the collar of the robe fall open to reveal his shoulders, chest, and biceps, stepping out of them as the bundle of cotton pools carefully into Guan Yue’s hands.

The Prince is already sitting in the water when Guan Yue returns from hanging up the robes. Guan Yue lifts up the hem of his own robes and takes a seat behind Jia Yi, placing his feet and calves in the water on both sides of Jia Yi’s shoulders as he begins to pour shampoo from one of the bottles into a palm.

The air is silent besides the sounds of the water sloshing and Jia Yi’s relaxed sighs and breaths as Guan Yue works his fingers through the Prince’s hair, his movements natural and efficient, almost like an instinctual art. Jia Yi obviously enjoys it, his eyes falling half-lidded, and at one point his cheek rests against the side of Guan Yue’s knee, almost like he’s fallen asleep. Guan Yue does wonder if he is asleep, only able to tell that Jia Yi is still awake by the small murmurs of “Keep on going,” coming from his lips whenever Guan Yue pauses even slightly.

“Head under water,” Guan Yue tells Jia Yi gently, tapping on the Prince's shoulder when he’s done working the shampoo through Jia Yi’s hair. As Jia Yi briefly dunks his head under the water, Guan Yue takes the opportunity to rinse his hands of any suds. When the Prince reappears, he’s facing Guan Yue, hair strands stuck against his forehead and temples, eyelashes clumped together and droplets of water dripping down his cheeks.

“Why don’t you come inside?” he suggests, glancing down at the surface of the water. “The water’s nice.”

When Guan Yue doesn’t reply, he adds, “You’ve worked hard too, Yueyue. You deserve to relax.”

Guan Yue glances at the bottles lined up next to him, before blinking back to Jia Yi’s curious stare. “If you insist, your Highness,” he replies. Frankly, he isn’t too excited about going into the water, but Jia Yi’s look is inviting and expectant, which oddly makes a shiver run up Guan Yue’s spine despite the air being wet and warm.

He silently undoes the tie at his waist and the buttons of the layer underneath his robes, letting the cloth fall to his elbows. His collar and shoulders and chest are suddenly exposed, which should be no problem at all, but Guan Yue can practically feel Jia Yi’s eyes staring at him, scanning him up and down, and it’s strange and slightly alarming -- when was the last time Jia Yi saw him unclothed, even?

His robes are neatly folded and left on the rock a few strides away from the water’s edge just for good measure. The moment he slides into the water, letting it swallow him up to his neck, he feels safer, as if a blanket had been wrapped around him, hugging him and comforting him. 

Jia Yi wades over to sit next to him, eyes having never left Guan Yue. Guan Yue feels a hand curl around his bicep, and he looks up.

“You’re thin, Yueyue,” Jia Yi notes, quiet.

“I don’t go outside,” Guan Yue simply replies, letting his facial muscles relax, focusing on the heat of the water flowing around him instead of Jia Yi’s stare.

There is a long silence between them, Guan Yue looking straight ahead while Jia Yi’s mouth hangs slightly ajar, as if he was fumbling with what to say in his head. It’s no surprise that Guan Yue is on the thinner side, but perhaps the Prince had just never taken note. It’s not like Guan Yue is noticeably unhealthy, too. Jia Yi himself is lean, both naturally and as a result of training, and Guan Yue is sure he would have a similar build if he were as physically active as the Prince.

“I want to do more for you,” Jia Yi suddenly says, his words slicing the silence in half.

Guan Yue looks over in surprise, his eyebrows raising. “There is nothing you need to do for me, your Highness,” he replies, the words coming off of his tongue naturally.

“B-But I--” And Jia Yi pauses, licking his lips. “I could do a lot more. I want to do a lot more.”

Guan Yue’s skin immediately becomes hotter hearing those words, and he’s not even sure why. He blinks away for a moment, bashful, and when he looks at Jia Yi again, he notices that Jia Yi’s expression has changed. The Prince’s face is intense, eager, and somehow a bit dark, which makes the hairs on the back of Guan Yue’s neck stand up.

“There is nothing you need to do for me,” Guan Yue repeats, and he is met with the sound of water sloshing as Jia Yi moves closer. He can sense Jia Yi’s presence, heavy and hot and so painfully obvious, not to mention the press of Jia Yi’s chest against his arm and shoulder as the Prince leans over.

“Really?” Jia Yi asks, and he sounds breathless, as if he’d just spent his voice yelling into the wind. “Look at me, Yueyue.”

Guan Yue swallows, his throat dry. He can hear the blood rushing in his ears as he slowly turns his head to meet Jia Yi’s eye. His bottom lip trembles just slightly, a mix of nervousness and an unknown emotion. Jia Yi’s eyes are big and wide and sincere just like always. They’re the eyes that Guan Yue has spent almost his entire life looking into.

“Really?” Jia Yi repeats.

_Yes,_ Guan Yue wants to answer, but his voice won’t work, not when Jia Yi is so close and so expectant and so eager and so _dependent_ on Guan Yue, like he’s weighing his everything on Guan Yue’s reply. Guan Yue’s heartbeat flutters as the thought occurs to him.

“N-No,” he replies without thinking, and he doesn’t know what makes him do it, but the next second he’s leaning in and kissing Jia Yi, his lips wet and plump and relaxed.

Guan Yue doesn’t realize what he’s doing until a second later, and panic shoots up in his chest; he obviously can’t be doing this, this is going against everything he _should_ be doing, thinking, desiring--

That is, until he feels Jia Yi’s hand snake to the back of his neck, holding him in place, and the Prince is pressing up against his lips with such fervor and vigor that it’s almost like Jia Yi is the one that _needs_ this from Guan Yue.

Those were the other things his eyes had been full of, besides the innocence and eagerness and sincerity: lust and desire.

* * *

This kind of thing should be inherently wrong, especially if Guan Yue was to go by the books. A servant having physical relations with royalty was unheard of, unless that servant happened to be one of the castle whores.

It's been a while since those times, though. They no longer keep women or men around solely for serving that purpose; the Kingdom's wealth was grown from the occupation of many enemy lands and not from keeping the King sexually satisfied.

Despite that, Guan Yue still thinks from time to time, recalling what he's read in books and what he's been taught his entire life. At the end of the day, before being the Prince's friend, he is the servant, the _personal_ attendant, his soul to be dedicated to the Prince and only the Prince -- as such, he is the Prince's, and therefore his only purpose is to cater to the Prince's pleasure.

There's a part of him that is convinced Jia Yi just wants him for physical satisfaction, just wants to see how far he'll go to serve.

And Guan Yue will do it all, not only because serving the Prince is his only purpose in life, but also because he loves and savours every single second of it--

That glitter of excitement in Jia Yi's eyes whenever he looks Guan Yue's way, where once it made Guan Yue amused and warm, it now drives him _mad._ He just wants to see more of it, see what the expression in Jia Yi's eyes can become just from the movements of Guan Yue's own hand. Because after all, every morning Guan Yue helps create Jia Yi like an artist and his doll, and Jia Yi is not only Guan Yue's best friend and Prince and object of unending affection and attachment, but also his product.

And in a way, Guan Yue is the same to Jia Yi, not only his best friend and personal attendant and object of unending affection and attachment, but also his creation. Guan Yue, just like everything else in his life, is supposed to make him more of a true prince and future king, perfectly molded to cater to his every need and desire, a beautiful accessory at his side that shows he has the power -- that he has the _right_ to be the one and only crown Prince.

There'd been little words exchanged between them since that one evening. It seemed that words are unnecessary; there's already a mutual understanding. Guan Yue even sees it, feels it, hears it in things as simple as Jia Yi trailing his hand down Guan Yue's forearm to slip his fingers into the crevices between Guan Yue's own. He wants Guan Yue to not only hold his hand, but to hold his heart too. Words can only go so far, and the Prince seeks confirmation that his personal attendant is always there to hold onto him and support him.

Guan Yue can hear himself replying _Yes_ in his head every single time he lays a palm flat against Jia Yi's bare chest, right above his heart. Guan Yue can feel his heartbeat, strong and steady. He's laid his ear against that spot numerous times, kissed over it followed by a soft flick of his tongue, sank his teeth into it to leave two reddening indents over pale flesh.

“Oh please,” Jia Yi says, with a laugh at the end of his words, two fingers twirling idly in a tuft of Guan Yue’s hair at the top of his forehead. 

“What?” Guan Yue replies, shifting positions and scooting down so that he can look Jia Yi in the eye with his chin resting on Jia Yi’s chest. His fingers are still buried in the masses of silk crumpled at the Prince’s waist, holding onto them with loose fists. Just seconds ago he’d been searching for the bony knobs of Jia Yi’s hips through all that fabric, piled there messily by Jia Yi’s own impatience to shrug his robe off starting with the shoulders. It should be simple, really, because all the bows Guan Yue ties can ideally be unraveled just by pulling on their tails, but somehow the Prince still failed at doing so. If he were to stand up, the sash at his waist would probably be hanging lopsidedly off of his hips.

That silk is probably wrinkled beyond measure right now. It’ll be Guan Yue’s responsibility to iron it all out tonight or tomorrow morning, although right at the moment it is certainly not something he wants to have on his mind.

“I’m sorry that every time we do this, the clothes and the blankets get so messy--” Jia Yi blinks away for a moment, as if embarrassed, but it’s Guan Yue whose cheeks heat up a bit. 

He opens his mouth, intending to tell Jia Yi that it’s _Not your problem_ and that it’s Guan Yue’s fault too, but Jia Yi continues unexpectedly.

“I-I should… go and fold my clothes or something…”

Guan Yue moves with lightning reflexes, scooting up and pressing a palm down on the center of Jia Yi’s chest, lifting himself up until he’s got Jia Yi pinned down with his thighs around the Prince’s waist.

Jia Yi looks at him in shock, like this is the first time Guan Yue has chosen to assert himself, like all those numerous times Guan Yue has held a firm hand down on what was best for the Prince had never happened.

“That’s not your responsibility to think about,” Guan Yue states. Jia Yi’s hand had fallen from Guan Yue’s hair to being loosely wrapped around the wrist of the hand sitting on his chest. 

“I s-still feel a little bad though,” Jia Yi murmurs, his voice fading away when Guan Yue leans down and begins tonguing at the junction of his neck and jaw. The Prince’s cheek turns the other way just as easily as his voice had fallen. Guan Yue, satisfied, hums.

“Then let me change that,” he replies, smiling against Jia Yi’s neck, feeling the heat from his skin and the tickle of his hair against his forehead. _You shouldn’t be feeling that way if you’re with me,_ Guan Yue silently adds. “I’m here to take care of you, and only you.” _I’m here to make you happy_ is what he thinks he should’ve said, but the words sound heavy on his tongue for some reason, like they’re going to stick to his lips and refuse to come out.

He lifts his face, and the Prince turns his head to look him in the eye. Guan Yue’s lips hang slightly ajar, with those exact words dangling off of them. _As long as you’re happy, I’m happy too,_ he wants to add, but it just doesn’t sound right. It doesn’t sound wrong either, though.

Jia Yi seems to get it anyways, because he’s grinning the next moment, as if Guan Yue had really said those words. It makes Guan Yue feel a bit shameful for some reason. Maybe he should’ve said them.

Jia Yi’s gaze shifts, following the movements of his hand. His fingers tug at the collar of Guan Yue’s robes, still tied loosely, slipping them off of his shoulder slowly, eyes tracing the lines of Guan Yue’s collar and neck and chest. Guan Yue watches the emotion in Jia Yi’s eyes morph from pleased to something else, something more intense, like temptation, salivation, desire -- hunger. 

It makes Guan Yue feel some type of _good,_ maybe not pleasure per se, but it’s kind of like pride with a bit of power, something that warms his chest, seeing Jia Yi react like that over a thing as subtle and minor as Guan Yue’s own skin.

That’s what he wants.

* * *

Guan Yue vividly remembers that at the very beginning--and for the majority of the time, anyways--to him, what became of his relationship with Jia Yi was essentially nothing. Jia Yi’s newfound physical infatuation with his personal attendant doesn’t change the fact that Guan Yue is simply a servant, and not to mention from the very beginning he probably would’ve willingly given up his body for Jia Yi if the Prince had even implied it. There is no emotional attachment on Guan Yue’s end, much less the Prince’s, and that is what is expected of both parties. 

But sometimes he feels a twinge of something different, right in his gut, an unexplainable feeling that isn’t pleasant but isn’t uncomfortable either. It vaguely reminds him of the feeling of excited anticipation, like he’s a small child again, about to unravel the rope tie to a small woven sack that he knows will have another palm-sized clay toy sitting on the rough, hardened weaving. Yet, he also knows that it’s not at all an emotion even in the same realm as excitement, because subconsciously, in the back of his head, at the bottom of his heart, on the tip of his tongue, it’s nothing but bitter, even though he cannot explicitly recognize the taste.

The first time he feels it, and notices he feels it, is when his sight is shut off, engulfed in the pitch blackness of the middle of the night, but all his other senses are wide open. He can feel the movements of the muscle of Jia Yi’s torso beneath his palms, even though he’s got Jia Yi on his back, pinned in place with his thighs around the Prince’s waist and the rocking of his hips, forward and back and up and down. All he hears is Jia Yi’s gasps and moans. That’s all that fills his head, strong enough to overpower his recognition of his own voice and thoughts -- that is, his mind is void of anything but Jia Yi until he feels a hand snaking to the back of his neck.

The automatic reaction is for panic to shoot up his spine, having been completely caught off-guard, the feeling of a hand and a grip on what is essentially his throat foreign and threatening. He can only truly tell whose hand it is--even though it should be obvious in the first place--when those fingers curl possessively over his skin and yank his head down, taking his breath away moments before he’s being kissed fervently, uncontrollably.

“God-- you’re-- amazing,” Jia Yi gasps out, pulling his lips away and trying to catch his breath, and for a moment Guan Yue feels like he’s going to go crazy from hearing those words, but that feeling of losing control flees as quickly as it’d settled. He replies with nothing but a shaky laugh, keeping up the rhythm of his movements, ankles and knees trembling since they’ve been going at it for a while by now. 

A string of moans later and there’s that hand again, this time running over his forearm and wrist and finding his hand before slotting their fingers together. Jia Yi’s fingers curl tightly, securely around Guan Yue’s own, almost like he’s balling his hand into a fist while simultaneously determined to keep ahold of Guan Yue. 

He brings their joined hands up to his lips and presses them against one of Guan Yue’s knuckles, almost like he’s kissing it, but not quite. His breath is hot and wet against Guan Yue’s skin, but it’s not uncomfortable, just a bit strange. And when Jia Yi presses their hands against his own cheek, his skin feels just slightly like it’s burning, a kind of heat that is both alarming and comforting at the same time.

That’s when Guan Yue feels it: that strange feeling in his gut, climbing up to his chest, and for some reason the barest thread of the notion that there is something different between him and Jia Yi slips into his mind. It flees the moment after, disappearing as quickly as it appeared, but it was still tangible long enough for Guan Yue to have taken notice of it.

He is already aware, even before having properly contemplated it, that he hates it.

* * *

The seasons pass as fast as the water in the river overturns and the fish dart between the sharp rocks. Guan Yue spends his days trailing Jia Yi like his tail, watching the thick locks of his Prince’s hair bleach brown with sunlight before fading back into black the following winter. He's been caressing the precious hands and wrists of his beloved Prince as the rough patches of calluses increase in number along with the weight of the blades he wields, and medicating the reddened slits and purpley bruises that fade into ugly scabs on his dear Prince’s arms and legs, gathered there from his uncanny love for adventure and danger.

He spends his nights entertaining Jia Yi in bed, only if his Prince wishes so and desires; at some times, right before an afternoon nap, Jia Yi will call him into his room, and the only thing he asks from Guan Yue is for his personal attendant to just lay there.

_Just lay there,_ he’d say, _you don’t need to do anything._ Guan Yue’s short black locks splayed all over the creamy silk sheets, the tie at his robe gone, the collar wide open and exposed. 

Jia Yi would stare at him like Guan Yue is some porcelain doll. He’d ask Guan Yue to donn his party robes, the ones tailored from fine red silk with obsidian lining and golden embroidery -- one of the only decorative sets he owned, but Jia Yi whispered in his ear that he’d ask the finest dressmaker in the entire kingdom to craft Guan Yue as many sets of fancy robes as he wanted.

Of course Guan Yue didn’t care about such material frivolities--he never did--but in the eyes of his Prince, he wanted to care, and so on a few instances when Jia Yi would bring him out into the royal gardens, Guan Yue would put extra clips in his hair--the ones of fine silvers shaped into leaves and vines and studded with the daintiest of rhinestones--and slip thin, elaborate rings over his fingers. He’d step out in the sun, and in Jia Yi’s eyes he’d glimmer and sparkle, like a precious gem with spotlights illuminating it from all angles, his shine so radiant it was almost blinding. Normally he hated being the center of attention, but when he kneeled in the midst of a small bed of flowers and ran his slim fingers over the stalk of a peony before gently plucking it from its stem and bringing the pink petals up to his lips, the absolute speechlessness that paralyzed Jia Yi’s body, like all the air had been drained out of his lungs -- Guan Yue felt a surge of power in his veins, as if he was the succubus drinking the words right off of his Prince’s tongue.

Who could resist him, a delicate and pretty boy with exquisite clips inlaid among his midnight-black locks and a snow white silk robe hanging off of his thin frame like a royal tapestry draped over the dull stone walls of the castle, cushioned by a bed of fragrant flowers that drew out what’s left of the color in his cheeks and the tops of his temples.

His Prince came close to fucking him right then and there a few too many times, but each time a warning press of Guan Yue’s index finger to Jia Yi’s lips was enough to tell him, _Later, the castle has windows overlooking the gardens and a stray servant could see us._ It never stopped Jia Yi from sweeping Guan Yue off of his feet, practically carrying him back into the castle and to his own bedroom quarters. Each time that happened, Guan Yue laughed until his stomach hurt or his laughter was muffled by Jia Yi’s lips, or both.

But just like everything else that happens in the royal family, the laughter was temporary and volatile. 

It is quickly approaching Jia Yi’s twenty-first birthday, and that means one big thing: courtship for his hand in marriage is about to begin. Luckily for Guan Yue, the King had already selected a woman to be Jia Yi’s wife, and so that saved the Prince’s poor attendant from extra hours of garmenting and grooming his Prince to perfection as he went through rotations of trial dates with various ladies who were more or less all crafted from the same framework of stiff mannerisms, powdered faces, button lips, and slim waists.

The feeling of relief nonetheless festered into an admission of internal guilt, clawing its way up Guan Yue’s throat like an ugly, sopping, pitiful animal that’d almost drowned in the castle piping. The only thing Guan Yue should be caring about is how his Prince feels, and not how Guan Yue _himself_ feels about the whole ordeal. Every single night that passes as they get closer to the date of meeting Jia Yi’s future wife, whether Guan Yue spends it in Jia Yi’s bed or his own (which, frankly, is almost never nowadays), Guan Yue gives himself a silent reminder right before falling asleep: that at the end of the day, he is still nothing but an accessory, that his emotions are worthless in the grand scheme of the palace workings, the decisions of the royal family, and the desires of the Prince he’s dedicated his entire life to serving.

It is for this very reason that he absolutely refuses to voice out his opinions on the rather sudden and unexpected wedding date announcement. At least to him it was sudden and unexpected, but it seems that every other staff in the palace was fully aware of the upcoming news… even the Prince himself, it seems, was aware as well, as Jia Yi’s face had not moved a single muscle when his father uttered those words aloud over dinner one evening.

“What do you think?” Jia Yi asks, while Guan Yue is dressing him in his sleeping robes in preparation for bed. It is exactly three months until the wedding date; they are to get married in the late spring amongst the butterflies, sweeping fields of green grasses, and gentle rays of sunlight. 

“About what?” Guan Yue feigns innocence. He’s been lying through his teeth about his feelings for who knows how long. By now he should be a professional at it, but this time around he has to turn his face away so Jia Yi won’t be able to catch the slight downward drop of the corners of his mouth.

“Yueyue, you know what I’m talking about.” Jia Yi grabs his hands and turns to face him. Jia Yi’s hands are much larger than Guan Yue’s, not in length or width in particular, but rather in robustness, sturdiness, and strength. Guan Yue’s wrists and fingers are thin and boney, the ovals of his fingertips sharp and slim; his hands are sculpted to pour tea into dainty little porcelain cups and nimbly assemble a complicated row of criss-cross ties and ribbons. Even though he is technically a servant, the dirty work of servantry is never his responsibility, and in a way, he is treated like a little palace boy too. The rest of the palace staff switch between envying and doting on him. For some, he is nothing but a waste of breath and space, a worthless orphan boy whose sole purpose is to be the Prince’s toy -- a palace whore, really, is what they say he is, because the Prince is never seen in his own personal quarters without Guan Yue hovering nearby. Facts can only say so much, and Guan Yue is very sure that the other staff have not completely caught on to his and Jia Yi’s physical relationship, even after a whole year, given Guan Yue’s excellence at lying and Jia Yi’s dedication to keeping any secret for his best friend. But that doesn’t mean that the rumors don’t spread around, slithering from the lips of one servant into the ear of another like a poisonous garden snake. 

They’re annoying for sure, but Guan Yue doesn’t hate them, because in some ways, they’re right.

Then, on the other hand, there are the staff that dote on him. Maybe because they are bound to a life of servitude, guaranteed to never have the option to rise in social rank, but plenty distance to fall, that they understand him, because they are the same as him in that regard. They see how widely their Prince smiles, but they see the just-as-wide smile on his personal attendant’s lips, and to them, it is distraught, pained, forced, a grimace -- more than once Guan Yue has wandered into the kitchen quarters at a hellish hour of the night, collapsed on a stool, and let his tears drip into the oak table before falling forward and draping himself over the wood like a butterfly that’s lost its ability to fly, the wide and long silk sleeves of his robes fanning out around him like his wings, the glimmering pins in his hair falling out of those soft black strands like a pair of droopy antennae.

_You make our boy so happy,_ some of the servant ladies will tell him while gently stroking his hair. _So why aren’t you happy too?_

Guan Yue can never come up with an answer. Some days he will wake up in the morning with the grayish sunlight of dawn filtering through the curtains, and Jia Yi will be at his side, cradling his hands and kissing his knuckles, so Guan Yue will be elated for the rest of the day. But there are other days, increasingly more often than not as the weather gets warmer and the flowers begin to bud--the signs of spring awakening--that even when Jia Yi does that and presses his lips to Guan Yue’s forehead while murmuring a sweet good morning, Guan Yue still feels bitterness in his chest. He doesn’t know why -- actually, he _does_ know why, it is just that he refuses to admit it to himself, because the reason terrifies him.

“The marriage.” Jia Yi’s tone becomes serious, but his words are still full of concern. “You haven’t said a single thing about it ever since father told me I would start courtship soon.”

“As long as the lady treats his Highness well, and his Highness favors her, then that is all I ask for.” Guan Yue’s sentence is clipped and professional, the muscles in his face not even twitching a bit. However, he is having trouble looking Jia Yi directly in the eyes, and the Prince notices.

“I’m asking for your _opinion on the marriage,_ Yueyue, _not_ what you _think_ you should be saying about the marriage.” Suddenly, Jia Yi’s tone is stern, a hint of authority slipping into the sound of his voice. The sound reaches Guan Yue’s ears like alarm bells. In an instant he recognizes _that_ kind of Jia Yi’s voice; it’s the voice Jia Yi uses when he’s taunting his sparring opponent into making the first move or scolding the barracks boys slacking off from their daily tasks. Panic rises in Guan Yue’s throat, because never has Jia Yi used this kind of tone with him. This voice is saved to be used for the people the Prince regards as passing nuisances -- something that nothing but a simple brush off of his shoulder can fix.

The hurt hits Guan Yue like a train, and he almost drops to his knees at once, only the strength of his self-control catching the folding of his legs beneath him before it is too late.

“We’re going to get _married,_ Guan Yue. She’s going to be living here full time, and that means you will have to see her every day.”

These are all facts. All that Jia Yi is stating are facts.

“W-Well,” Guan Yue begins, lips trembling, and his words sound as shaky as his limbs feel. “I am sure that she is a lovely maiden. The King would not do such a disservice to the Kingdom as to select a scornful woman to be his only son’s wife.”

“I don’t mean my question in that way, Yueyue.” Jia Yi, having noted the difficulty Guan Yue is having at responding, softens his words. “I know you love me, don’t you?”

The question sends an electric shock up Guan Yue’s spine. He’s left with his jaw hanging open, mouth gaping like a dead fish. How is he to respond? Of course he should say that he loves his Prince--he always will, for his Prince is his everything--but the words simply will not come out of his mouth. It’s like he’s subconsciously caging them in his throat and forcing himself to swallow them back down so they can dissolve in the acid of his stomach.

“Regardless, you must know that no matter who I marry, I will always love you, Yueyue.”

With that, he takes Guan Yue’s hands up to his mouth, his lips caressing the soft skin of the backs of Guan Yue’s hands. His eyes look directly at Guan Yue, whose head is hanging as a painful sensation slowly begins to engulf him from his feet up.

“The only reason why I didn’t protest against marriage is for the sake of the Kingdom, Yueyue. Even though I haven’t said it aloud until now, both you and I have known that for a long time. If I really had the choice, I wouldn’t marry any woman, or any man for that matter, except for you.”

The tears are dripping from the corners of Guan Yue's eyes, sliding down his cheeks all hot and heavy, searing into his skin and making him feel like he’s burning alive.

“I don’t plan to love this woman, or anyone else. I will only love you, and it will stay that way until the day I die.”

Guan Yue wishes he could be like Jia Yi--like a phoenix--and just burn to death right then and there, and that tomorrow he would rise from his ashes anew, his conscience cleared and his emotions blank, where he could freely spread out his wings and soar again instead of carrying the stones that weigh heavily on him and drag him to the ground.

Jia Yi’s voice has lowered down to a whisper, and in the time Guan Yue was completely silent, the Prince had begun to worry tremendously. The feeling pierces Jia Yi’s heart like a needle, but to him it feels like he’s driving a dagger through his best friend’s throat. Suddenly Guan Yue’s hands feel like a doll’s hands, stiff and wooden and lifeless, and a lump rises in Jia Yi’s throat. 

“Please,” he whispers, his usual courage draining out of him. His strength is nothing without its source, and that source is the only steady pillar in his life. That source is Guan Yue, who to him, is his perfection, his other half, his spirit. He draws energy from Guan Yue like a bat that draws blood from its prey.

“Don’t cry, Yueyue. Please.” Guan Yue never cries. Guan Yue doesn’t cry. Guan Yue _isn’t capable_ of crying.

Quickly, Guan Yue raises his head, whipping one of his hands away from Jia Yi’s grip and dabbing at his tears with his sleeve. “We’re going to meet her in three days’ time, your Highness,” he says, his voice returning to a normal tone and pitch. “If you will excuse me, I must make my way to the kitchen quarters and instruct the staff on what to prepare for the date.”

* * *

The future “her Highness” is a charming woman by the name of Duchess Cheng Xiao. She meets Jia Yi in red silk robes that gather around her feet and trail behind her like a train of rose petals. The golden clip that sits atop her neatly braided bun is lined with delicate little rubies, and it sparkles mockingly in the sunlight that filters through the window of the drawing room.

Guan Yue thinks nothing of her while he stands in the corner of the room, idly listening to his Prince and the Duchess chat. As expected, the King has immaculate taste. The Duchess does not fail any of the requirements of a future queen. She is beautiful. She is polite. She is educated. And most surprisingly of all, she is very forthright.

Guan Yue cannot tell if the Duchess has taken a liking to his Prince. He is not yet at that level of expertise of reading strangers. At the very least, after the luncheon ends and the Duchess leaves the drawing room to have a chat with the Queen, Guan Yue doesn’t notice that Jia Yi has any particularly extraordinary opinions about her either, but for some reason there’s still an uncomfortable feeling sitting in the pit of his stomach.

“The Duchess seems to be quite a lovely lady,” Guan Yue idly comments, collecting the tea cups and tea pot atop a silver tray before handing them off to a servant. 

“I suppose so.” Jia Yi sighs, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes for a moment. Perhaps he is tired from the chatting. Even though he likes social events, entertaining a single person--and a stranger who is to be his future wife at that--must be difficult even for a crown Prince. “You heard what we were saying, right? That in one week’s time, she will be staying here as we begin wedding preparations.”

“Yes, of course,” Guan Yue immediately replies. Jia Yi can’t see him because he’s standing off to the side, and so he bites his lip nervously. “I will ask the staff to make sure the lady’s new quarters are fit for a queen.”

“That isn’t your responsibility.” Jia Yi cracks open an eye, turning his head and staring at Guan Yue, his expression blank. “Let my stepmother care about those things. You’re _my_ personal attendant, Yueyue, so I will say this as a command: Do not do anything about the plans for the Duchess to move into the castle unless I ask you so.”

Guan Yue blinks rapidly for a second. The shock shows on his face before he reins himself in, and his expression immediately returns to one of perfect neutrality. Nonetheless, Jia Yi’s words have a resounding effect on him. _You’re_ my _personal attendant,_ Guan Yue hears, ringing in his ears over and over again. “Y-Yes, your Highness. As you wish.”

Jia Yi lets out another sigh and leans his temple against two of his fingers.

* * *

The Duchess makes herself sparse as a new member of the castle. She spends much of her time in her own quarters, the study, or in the drawing room, while Jia Yi is out in the pastures, the gardens, or at the barracks. As Guan Yue is to follow Jia Yi everywhere, he rarely crosses paths with the Duchess either.

However, he most definitely runs into her more than the Prince does. Sometimes he is bringing dirty linens to the servants’ quarters to have them washed, and while he is quickly moving down the carpeted halls, she will be walking the direction opposite of him. Nothing much is exchanged between them except a nod of acknowledgement from the Duchess as Guan Yue stops in his tracks and bows to her before continuing down his path. 

He has seen her wearing those red silk robes the day she met Jia Yi. He has seen her wearing her white sleeping gown, the fabric billowing around her ankles as she makes her way to the kitchen quarters for a glass of milk before bed. He has seen her wearing her simple royal blue dress that is only taken out for ballroom dance lessons. He has seen her wearing a plain set of black robes as she sits in the drawing room and paints. 

All these times he has seen her, yet very few words have been exchanged between them besides the most basic of greetings and introductions.

That is until one early morning, where Guan Yue is once again in the kitchen quarters having cried himself to sleep. He wakes, and the light coming in from the window is almost blinding. The sky is gray with streaks of orange and red beginning to peek through. It must just barely be dawn.

He sits there on the stool, facing the window, blinking blearily and rubbing the dried tears away from the corners of his eyes. They crackle, and there is brief pain, almost sparking tears in his eyes again, but whatever fluid leaks out is quickly dabbed away by his fingerpads. Given the state of the sky, Jia Yi should not be waking for at least another hour or so, so that means Guan Yue has another hour to silently contemplate.

His thoughts are interrupted when the kitchen door creaks as it is being pushed open, and Guan Yue jumps in his seat. Surely the cooks should not be here for at least another half hour? 

Another shot of surprise courses through him when he recognizes the room’s newest occupant. He hastily scrambles off of his stool, patting down his robes and hoping they don’t look too disheveled and creased. The bow that he gives is deep, as if apologizing for being in such a state of panic.

“Ah, you are… Guan Yue, was it,” the Duchess says, her voice soft. She looks a little bit sleepy, probably having just woken up. 

“Y-Yes, milady,” Guan Yue quickly replies, standing up from his bow, spine straight and posture perfect. “I hope I have not disturbed you, milady.”

“Not at all, I am only down here for a glass of water.” The Duchess moves quietly past Guan Yue, her steps light and breezy. Guan Yue’s eyes follow her curiously as she reaches into one of the cupboards for a cup. It is obvious she’s been in the kitchen many times before. “Isn’t the dawn sky lovely?” she asks.

“Quite so, milady.” The sky is indeed a beautiful color. Guan Yue wonders why the Duchess is awake so early -- not even the palace staff are awake at this hour, with the exception of Guan Yue. Surely she doesn’t wake up at this time every day?

It seems the Duchess senses this exact question hanging off of the tip of Guan Yue’s tongue, and after filling her glass with water, she approaches him, setting the glass down on the table in front of her. Guan Yue startles right when she stops next to him, although he doesn’t show anything on his face or his body.

“There are some days where my sleep is restless…” the Duchess begins, glancing down at the water before she turns her head to look at Guan Yue, who cautiously returns her gaze. 

“If that is so, then I shall ask the maids change your sheets and blankets for more comf--” 

“Thank you, Guan Yue, but the sheets and blankets are not the problem.” Her mouth stretches as she smiles, the look on her face almost nostalgic. The color of her lips is a purpley-pink, standing out sharply against her very fair complexion. There is a very small mole at the corner of one of her eyes, and it moves when she blinks, for it is very close to her bottom lash line. “I wake up earlier than I expect, just when dawn is beginning to settle, and on those days, I go to the kitchen for a glass of water. I find that the dawn looks the best when seen from the kitchen.”

She sighs, taking a sip of water before setting the glass back down with a dull thud. Guan Yue remains silent, unsure how to respond. All his senses are on high alert. To him, the air is tense, and it feels like the Duchess is about to warn him or deliver him an unwanted omen. All the times they have crossed each other’s paths, and only now she decides to chat with him one-on-one.

“Now you know why I am here. How about you, then? What brings you to the kitchen so early in the morning?”

“Ah…” Guan Yue begins, at a loss for words. Obviously, he can’t tell her the truth. But truly, why would he be in the kitchen at the crack of dawn? “The same reason as you, milady, for a gl--”

“You’ve been crying, my dear.” The Duchess interrupts him with a comforting smile and the morning sunlight reflecting in her eyes. They bring out the brown pigments in her pupils, making them glow golden. “I can see how tired your eyes are.”

Guan Yue freezes, speechless, his mouth hanging slightly ajar in shock. He gathers himself the next second and clears his throat embarrassedly, forcing an awkward smile onto his face as he begins to dip into a bow and apologize for his behavior.

However, a palm on his shoulder stops him. The Duchess is gently nudging him back up with her hand. “Tears aren’t something you should ever apologize for. They are something that all of us shed at least once in our lifetimes.” She pauses, lips pursing just slightly, as if she were contemplating the gentlest way to arrange her words. “I know we have rarely spoken, but I can tell you are a very strong and disciplined character. Some tears here and there are expected for anyone that is human, but especially for those of us that hold ourselves to such a high standard.”

“Y-Yes. That is true. You are very right, milady.” Guan Yue tilts his head, almost as if bowing to her, but also to hide the redness that he feels creeping up his cheeks. The Duchess had caught him in his weakest moment even despite his efforts to cover it up. It is expected that being emotional in front of the one you are serving is an inexcusable act, and so he had anticipated a reprimand, but so far there seems to be… none.

“You make his Highness very happy, you know that?”

“I have been told that before, milady.”

“You make him very happy, but don’t forget about yourself. You are his only confidant and his best friend. He should make you happy too.” And with that, the Duchess turns, grabbing her glass of water in her hand as she walks away. Guan Yue stares at her receding form, his mouth open in shock yet again. As she walks, the Duchess’s long brown hair swishes over her back in the same way that her sleeping gown swishes at her ankles, and it’s almost like she’s a cloud drifting away, silent except for the wind that carries it.

The way she arranges herself is much like Guan Yue; her steps are minimal, smooth, and with elegance.

* * *

It is one of those occasional days where it happens that Jia Yi’s afternoon schedule is free and Guan Yue’s consciousness feels clearer than usual. The two go to the gardens again, and this time Guan Yue is wearing a golden set of party robes, something new that Jia Yi had requested for him from a dressmaker in the nearest town. At this time of the year, only the buttercups have bloomed, but they make for the perfect imagery anyways, a bright yellow to match with the exquisite gold draped over Guan Yue’s frame.

He falls backward, the thick blades of grass cushioning beneath him, and the sun shines bright in his eyes. Guan Yue squints, raising a hand to shade his eyes. The grimace on his lips from the brief pain quickly changes into a genuine smile as he feels the sun’s rays warm his cheeks and his hands. 

Jia Yi suddenly appears in his vision, grabbing Guan Yue’s hand by the wrist and pinning it down into the grass. Even though Guan Yue’s source of shade is no longer there, Jia Yi’s face hovering above his blocks all the sun he needs, and so Guan Yue is no longer squinting, but instead his eyes are wide open, and so are his lips. His free hand comes up to cradle Jia Yi’s cheek. His Prince’s skin is warm just like the sunlight, his complexion rosy and just slightly tan from the lengthening daylight as the days roll deeper into spring.

“You look beautiful,” the Prince says. “The buttercups are truly your flower, Yueyue.”

Guan Yue chuckles, his laughter light and tinkling, matching the twittering of the hummingbirds that flit about in the background. “They are quite beautiful, aren’t they? I think yellow is such an underappreciated color.”

Jia Yi hums in agreement, one of his hands coming up to his cheek, his fingertips sliding in the crevices between Guan Yue’s fingers, almost like they’re holding hands, but still not quite. His expression is fond, relaxed, yet there’s still a slight air of seriousness about him.

“If I could marry you, I’d marry you in the buttercups,” Jia Yi murmurs softly, the features in his face softening -- or rather, drooping, as the gleam in his eyes becomes wishful. “The only flowers at our wedding would be the buttercups. They’d be braided in your hair, tucked behind your ear, pinned onto your sleeves. All eyes would be on you.”

Guan Yue feels his heart clench, the imagery of such a scene flashing through his mind. It makes his gut twist and churn, a bitter taste of desire rising in his throat. Although he doesn’t consciously acknowledge it, marrying Jia Yi would be the only thing he’d ask for if he were ever granted a wish, because he knows it’s a want that’ll never manifest into reality.

_But that’s impossible,_ he almost says, only managing to bite his tongue at the last moment. “If you really like them, your Highness, perhaps I can suggest having buttercups in the bouquets for the wedding.” That’s right, the wedding is in only three weeks, and each passing day hangs over Guan Yue’s head like a stormcloud.

“That won’t be necessary,” Jia Yi firmly replies. “While they are beautiful, I don’t think… I don’t think they should be at the wedding.”

“Alright.” Guan Yue smiles peacefully, the corners of his eyes crinkling as they fold into crescents. His fingertips stroke Jia Yi’s cheek, and Jia Yi’s hand gives his a firm squeeze.

Ten minutes later, after picking the blades of grass out of each other’s hair and clothing, they head back towards the castle, steps easy against the paved gravel pathway. Too much sunlight is never good, and Guan Yue burns easily.

As they walk, arms linked together, Cheng Xiao watches from the window of her room, the hand holding a paintbrush poised mid-air, as if she were about to draw a stroke of bright blue over her currently blank canvas.

* * *

With each day passing, Guan Yue feels himself spiral downwards. There is so much preparation to do for the wedding, and even though he inwardly wants nothing to do with it, he finds himself meddling in every single way possible, from offering his opinion on what kind of pastries should be available to the guests to how the seating chart should be arranged to what color the draperies should be. Like his Prince said, none of it is his responsibility whatsoever--it is all supposed to be left to the castle’s event planner--but an uncontrollable urge in him forces him to participate. It’s like he has an overwhelming desire to be in complete control, and when he is not, it drives him mad.

His irritation is obvious to the Prince, who recently has even refused to bed him for concern over Guan Yue’s emotional state and his own distractions about the wedding. At night he holds Guan Yue in his embrace and whispers comforting words to him, but to Guan Yue, they spark annoyance in his chest. It’s the last thing he wants--someone to pity him--especially from his Prince, because this means that Guan Yue is becoming a burden to him.

Guan Yue just wishes it all could end, that Jia Yi could just get married and things would go back to the way they were before, when their daily routines were undisturbed and Cheng Xiao was just a passing reminder in the hallways. There are, of course, multitudes of other things Guan Yue could worry about that come with Jia Yi officially becoming a husband, but those are things for the future, and Guan Yue decides he will deal with them as they come; otherwise, he thinks he may really break under the stress.

The wedding is in two days, and Guan Yue’s resentment for himself is at an all-time high. Every morning he wakes with guilt in his gut that eats away at him throughout the day. How could he loathe his beloved Prince, who has done nothing but love him and rely on him -- the only two things Guan Yue ever wanted from him. Guan Yue comes to the conclusion that he has recently become selfish, and selfishness is a sin for a person in his position. He is indebted to all the people that surround him, so to be selfish is the same as if the Prince were to disrespect the King. While he may not physically be exiled, in his mind he has already done that to himself, locked himself up in chains at the farthest corner of his mind. How could he do such a disservice to his Prince, to be selfish and think for himself first, when he is the one person closest to him and the one person the Prince _needs_ to _be_ a Prince? 

There is so much of Guan Yue in Jia Yi, and it doesn’t only extend to simple materials, such as the way his hair is gelled back with pomade spread from Guan Yue’s gentle palms or the way his ceremonial robes are pinned neatly in place with silver needles from Guan Yue’s nimble fingers. It is only the wedding rehearsal, and Guan Yue feels like he’s about to collapse with the way the sun is beating down on his back.

The way Jia Yi stands, his spine straight and hands tucked into his sleeves, is all Guan Yue’s doing. Just a simple mannerism is a result of countless reminders and soft hands placing pressure on the Prince’s shoulders to help him straighten his back and properly tuck in his hips so he stands as tall and regal as possible. The way the expression on his face is absolutely unreadable, a crowd-pleasing smile on his lips and a relaxed brow with tensed cheeks -- Guan Yue taught him how to do that, to look his most handsome in any situation, to mask the difficulties that may nag at him in an uncomfortable meeting with the King. 

Guan Yue can’t handle the sun anymore. He feels dizzy and weak, and he quickly excuses himself from the gardens before hurrying up the gravel pathway back to the castle. Climbing the stairs feels like the hardest physical exercise he’s ever done, and he nearly stumbles and falls at the top, only barely managing to make it to his own quarters and collapse on his bed a second before his knees would’ve surely given out underneath him.

In just a couple of seconds, he is asleep.

* * *

He wakes up with his lips dry and his throat parched, so he is ambling weakly to the kitchen for a glass of water. When he enters, he is surprised to find Cheng Xiao already sitting at the table, her own glass of water held with both of her hands.

“Oh, Guan Yue,” she says, turning her head and acknowledging him at the entrance. “I hope you are feeling better.”

“Milady.” Guan Yue bows, and as his head hangs there, his world starts spinning, and he almost loses his balance as he stands back up. “I am feeling better. Thank you for asking, milady. If you will excuse me, I am just here for a glass of water as well.”

“Of course.” The Duchess returns to facing the window.

Guan Yue intends to return straight to his quarters, but right as he turns off the sink tap, Cheng Xiao speaks up once again.

“If you don’t mind, Guan Yue, I’d like to have a word with you.”

Guan Yue’s head jerks up in surprise. The Duchess? A word with him? What could she possibly have to say to him? “Yes, milady.” He approaches her, sliding out the stool next to her and perching himself upon it as gracefully as possible given his current lack of balance.

“In less than two days, I will be the Princess of this castle.” She pauses, taking a sip of her water, and Guan Yue glances at her face. Her expression is blank, but she’s clearly at least somewhat uncomfortable, since she’s staring at the table and not looking Guan Yue in the eye. “To me, being a Princess is no different than a responsibility. I ask nothing else from the title besides political, social, and militaristic influence in this kingdom.”

Guan Yue silently dips his chin, nodding twice.

“So I must tell you that I don’t love your Prince. I have no clue what’s been troubling you these past few weeks, but if it is of any consolation to you, I don’t love him, and I don’t think I will fall in love with him either.”

“W-Wh--” Guan Yue stutters, and he almost spits the water out of his mouth. Instead, he forces himself to swallow it as fast as possible, which ends up catching in his throat and eliciting several long seconds of embarrassingly loud hacking while the Duchess looks at him with a mix of concern and alarm.

“I’ve seen the way you look at him, and I’ve seen it for a very long time now,” Cheng Xiao adds, once Guan Yue’s coughing has died down. “Rest assured, your secret is safe with me. It is my intention to maintain the peace as long as possible, and if that means keeping quiet about a thing or two, then so be it.”

“W-Wha-- milady--” Guan Yue tries to form words, but they just won’t come out in a coherent sentence. He’s dumbfounded by the Duchess’s blatant honesty, and even through her attempts at calming his worries, he’s still panicked, because if someone like Cheng Xiao knows, then the possibility that there are others of high status knowing as well--

“I’m a young woman, Guan Yue. Our literature is just filled with topics on how to be a hopeless romantic.” The Duchess laughs, bringing a hand up to cover her mouth. The sound calms Guan Yue’s nerves a bit, but it’s still not enough to settle how tense and strung apart he feels. Although the dizziness in his head has cleared noticeably, after having received the shock from Cheng Xiao’s words, he once again feels his world tilting, the corners of his vision wavering, and instantly his eyes are burning up. 

Perhaps the blurriness isn’t from dizziness, he thinks, as the tears drip onto the table and he feels himself losing consciousness.

* * *

At the break of dawn, Jia Yi is already awake and standing as Guan Yue helps dress him in his ceremonial robes. 

“You’ll be there in the front row, right?” Jia Yi says, turning around and clasping Guan Yue’s hands excitedly. The grin on his face is big and wide, his elation obvious.

“Of course. I will be there.” Guan Yue returns his smile, the little rhinestones of his earrings shaking as he nods his head reassuringly. _I’ll always be there if it is you,_ he silently thinks.

“I can’t wait,” Jia Yi hums, turning back around and sighing, running his fingers through the tufts of hair at the top of his head before patting them back down. “Let’s get this day over with, shall we?”

Later that afternoon, Guan Yue is in his room, sitting right in front of his largest window, one that directly overlooks the royal gardens. The scene that he witnesses is breathtaking. It’s like something taken directly out of a fairytale. The Prince and the Princess’s robes are both a rich crimson, golden-white embroidery climbing up their hems and collars in the shapes of vines and ivy, the leaves dotted with small pearls that reflect iridescent in the bright spring sun. The Prince’s crown is a beautiful gold-bronze with rubies cut into the shape of crescents lining the circumference and carefully carved etchings of wishes of good fortune and health decorating its ridges. The Princess’s tiara is the same beautiful gold-bronze, except the gems that are scattered over the crest of her head are deep rose-gold diamonds, mined from the farthest corner of the savannahs and cut by the finest jeweler in the kingdom. The light that reflects off of their jewels cascades down the luxurious colors of their hair, like beaded and strung rhinestones interwoven among silky black and brown strands.

The both of them are smiling like it’s the happiest day of their lives. Everything is perfect, as it should be for the future King and Queen.

Even the flowers that are braided into the Princess’s hair match the gold of her tiara. They’re dainty little buttercups, their bright yellow glowing against the rich chocolate brown of her hair, lighting up her eyes and her cheeks and illuminating the beautiful fairness of her skin.

This time, Guan Yue lets the tears fall relentlessly. They form little puddles around his fingers, which are the same color as the face of the enigma of a figure that blinks back at him in the mirror, the skin underneath its eyes purpley with hints of yellow, black, and blue, like it’d gotten socked in the eyes and the bruises were only just beginning to fade.

**Author's Note:**

> thank u to the lovely S for spending her precious time and efforts editing this (lmao before she looked at it the draft was terrible ngl)


End file.
